Compassion Meets Frustration
Time never seemed to flow the same anymore, he'd stopped counting how long it'd been since he'd seen a human. Weeks, Months, Years, Decades, Centuries? When he scraped together his essence and separated himself from the fade, the waking world felt….off. The sky swirled with radiant greens and yellows, a symbol of the fade and its magic everywhere around them. Spirits roamed to do as they wished. This wasn't right, but he couldn't quite figure out why. So he traveled and searched, seeking out anyone in need of Compassion. For a long time he traveled across ancient ruins of what appeared to be prolific cities, but there was never more than fractured buildings and collapsed stone walls. As a spirit he didn't need rest, instead he liked to listen to the whispers of things around them, ruins were the best.
They spoke of masked dances, happy families and drunken singing. Other times the whispers were red, angry and festering with a pain that well outlived its source. Sometimes those bad feelings resounded within his being and poked, prodded at a pain deep inside himself he couldn't reach. Whenever he tried there was a stabbing pain behind his eyes, it always left him short of breath and clasping his shaking hands together. He knew, there was something wrong. Things were missing and he never quite felt whole, but he was Compassion. He would help. So he spend a long time on the road once more, healing the frayed hurts that always appeared before him. Despite being Compassion, he dared not approach any of the elvhen. Their hurts pulled in a special way; twisted, confused, lost to time and the whole again. They shielded themselves from spirits, for even though spirits roamed freely as mostly friends…not a single one risked possession.
Some decades passed until he found an old ruin stop one of the most beautiful hills he'd ever seen. The sunshine lit the horizon almost as if it was giving the earth it's blessing. It felt like home, a foreign sensation he was unsure if he'd ever felt before. Remains of a once formidable wall spanned at least a few hundred feet in every direction, and the crumbled castle stole his breath away. That day, for the first time he could remember, he cried. Unintentional tears that stung at the corners of his eyes and blurred his vision until gravity forced them down his pale cheeks onto the ground below. The crying didn't stop until the next day, and neither did the panging sensation of loss and sadness. Whatever the feeling was, he couldn't remember. Something about sparklers, a flash of red hair, and a book that forced a smell of paper and ink to linger in his nose until night fell. Still the memories would not come no matter how long he searched the fade, just when he found himself getting close..the memories were ripped in half. For a long time, he thought perhaps the memory was too painful, a bright flash of green and rumbling earth was the closest he'd ever come.
Here the nugs were all the company he needed, he could heal the hurts and remain at the place that brought him so much peace. The slow creep of sunlight finally broke him free from a wistful reverie, already the creatures around him were beginning to wake. As if hearing his thoughts, dozens of little squeaks started pouring out from under the arch of what appeared to be an old bar. The smallest one in the group came rushing out to him, little feet moving so fast that he ran into the over-sized weight of the hat Compassion always sat next to him. He chuckled and slid his hand under her belly in order to gently place her on the ground beside him.
"Josie, aren't you supposed to wait for the others?"
She was his favorite; born a runt of the litter her pain called to him. Broken and starving, not speaking in words but pictures and burning with the desire to live. He nursed her to health, cared for her until she could stand on her own. An annoyed squeak followed his words, she clearly wasn't going to wait around for too much longer. Just when he was about to stand and lead her to a good hunting spot he'd found previously, a sharp hurt filled his head. His vision swam; there were so many knots, wriggling and vying to get loose. Anger was sharp, but despair was sharper, they took turns stabbing into hope and leaving dreams to die. No, no, this wasn't right. Compassion scrambled to his feet and followed the thread of flickering light, there was no burning here but instead a cold emptiness. Around the rotted gate, over the gravel path and through a still standing doorway. A faint whimpering noise came from the darkness, the whole room stunk with the smell of mold and decay but smells never bothered him. Compassion crouched down until he could see a dirty figure huddled in the corner against splintering wood beams.
"You are lost….no that's not right. You're fleeing. Fire, so much fire….we didn't do anything to anyone. Where is my mom, she said she'd be right behind me? They must have got her, she must be dead."
The small figure's memories bored into his skull with the force of his emotions, they swam in an angry circle, all begging for attention. Demanding not to be ignored. Then, a flash of golden armor and a pair of pointed ears. Those memories were red, painted in scorn and scoured with distain. The figure lifted his head and stared into Compassion's calming blue eyes, he could see the terror. It was almost palatable, demons followed the trail of negativity he left behind. At least until the little one reached the ruins, demons refused to set foot here.
"You're one of 'em. Those spirits The Dread Wolf uses to spy on us and keep us in line. Get away from me! Yer gonna kill me just like the others, I'll never obey him!"
The little figure shook in terror and the voice that spoke was squeaky with the undertones of faint adolescence. A young boy. "The Dread Wolf", that name lit a spark somewhere in his memory. Some powerful emotion danced at the corner of his thoughts, he just couldn't quite put his finger on it. Although he wasn't sure if he should. Those thoughts felt angry; they were stained in a red so deep he didn't know if leaning those secrets would keep him as Compassion. Nevertheless, those memories were his, with the bad he felt there was also some good. Separating himself from the fade wasn't easy, he had to pull together all the parts of himself and drag it through the cascading waterfall of mixed magic/spirits. He wasn't even sure how long it took to regain his form, familiar blonde hair and tired eyes coupled with a tall and lanky form. It felt like the right shape to take. He must have left his memories behind, they must have gotten too mixed into the voices, the chaos.
"I don't work for The Dread Wolf. I am Compassion. I heal the hurt, sooth the sorrow, mend the broken. I want to help. There is no one here but me and the nugs." Compassion motioned to the nugs outside, waiting on him eagerly but too afraid of the new comer to enter. The young boy held a glinting blade between his hands, a shaky grasp but ready to defend himself if need be. Angry, so angry, the lines blurred inside. There were so many hurts, so many tangles and they all writhed in agony.
"Like I'd believe anything you had to say, just…don't come any closer" The boys hands shook harder than before, Compassion could feel it. The weariness settling in his bones to make a home. Tired, so tired, feet throbbing with every step. Need to keep moving, no, have to keep moving. They'll follow, hidden in the shadows like silent daggers.
"The elvhen do not come here and neither do the demons. The energy around it is…too powerful, too pure."
"Wha's that even mean?"
"Something happened here a long time ago, and it left a scar. Bright and shining, echoing traces that demanded to be remembered. It fights, even though it was destroyed."
"Yer still not makin' any sense"
"You need rest, I'll bring food and water for you when you wake."
The boy fought sleep for as long as he could, eventually the sword went lax in his hold and the soft breaths of slumber reached Compassion's ears. For now he watched, guarding the small child while humming a lost melody that his mother used to sing when he was a baby. The longer he watched over the boy, the deeper sleep he seemed to fall into. Memories began to flash behind Compassion's eyes. Scorching heat, a lone elvhen standing before the rest. Orders, then fleeing. Screams, there was so much screaming. The fields caught fire first and then extended their grasp to the houses of the village. In the fading sunlight, lives burning provided a beacon. Seeing that elvhen sparked a sense of familiarity inside him. That one felt, wrong. Just like the world felt wrong. There was something about….a temple. Old and forgotten, hiding secret treasures not in the form of books but heartbeats. Serving a dead master, but he didn't remember these things. If the thoughts would just stop buzzing around between his ears everything would be fine. He wanted those memories.
Another one; sharp and painful. Compassion pressed his fingertips against his temple with bruising force. He wouldn't lose this one. Just a little further. Something about…counting birds against the sun, but then something rainer and a lion? He couldn't figure out what these things meant, his head throbbed, and he finally let out a breath he didn't really need to hold. Searching for his memories must have taken hours, because the boy began to show signs of waking. He stood up and left to go retrieve food and water. His memories could wait for now, he had a hurt to help.